Page 4 of Bastard Prince
It hurt. Just living seemed to hurt right now. But, as always, he had no choice.
Turning to where the doctor still held the door to the morgue open, Giovanni headed back inside and prepared to lie to his daughter.
It was a lie that would last more than a decade.
CHAPTER ONE
Francesca
The harsh fluorescent lights shone down from overhead, the glare bouncing off the peach walls and making the entire space look like it had been doused in Pepto Bismol. In fact, the whole building was decorated in that sickly pink-peach color, inside and out, looking more like a doctor’s office than a Catholic Church.
The churches I had grown up in, the places of worship that were dotted around Manhattan like freckles, stood out in my memory as imposing and inspirational structures, their neo-Gothic spires reaching hundreds of feet into the sky, looking almost as if they could touch the heavens themselves.
This place, situated just off the Strip and sandwiched between the Luxor hotel and the fucking airport, felt more like a mid-western middle school than a place of worship. The bland stucco exterior did nothing to stir my soul the way the Cathedrals of my youth once had, but there were few options and my time was limited.
I sat in the very last pew, the smell of cheap candles wafting in from the vestibule behind me, staring at the large crucifix that hung above the alter, hoping desperately for some form of explanation.
Some answer as to why the last twelve years of my life had just been one lie after another.
Why was I so unworthy of the truth?
After Antonio had told me the story of that night, the night our mother had died and our father had spirited him away like a ghost in the darkness, I was stunned. I hadn’t said a word as I grabbed my purse and headed out of the apartment, ignoring the shouts from Tony, Enzo, and Eric. Making my way to the lobby and out into the street, I walked.
I simply needed some time to process everything I had just been told. I had no destination in mind, letting my feet simply move, and although I maybe shouldn’t have been, I was actually surprised when I found myself outside the church. It had always been a place that brought me comfort in times of stress, and stress was exactly what I was feeling.
The people closest to me hadn’t believed I could handle it, that I couldn’t have kept the secret that would have protected my brother’s life, and as such, I was left in the dark.
Alone.
But no matter how long I stared at the bronze recreation of the crucified body of the son of God, no answers appeared to be forthcoming.
I sat for a while longer, watching the shift of the sunlight through the single stained-glass window, before someone joined me in my pew.
“How did you find me?” I asked without looking up.
“Church was where you used to go when you were conflicted. You always hid in the back row when you were extra emotional,” Antonio said, a smile in his voice. “I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”
I huffed. “Yeah, well, that’s probably the only thing.”
Sure, I was being petty, but, fuck.
Antonio sighed and I turned to look at him. He had grown into such a handsome man, just like I had always imagined he would. But he looked worn down, tired and overwhelmed. Guilt stabbed at me when I thought maybe he had struggled with our separation as much as I had. Maybe more so, because even though I had lost him and our mother, I had still had my father.
Antonio had truly been alone.
“Frankie, I know you’re angry with me. With Papà. But, we didn’t tell you because we wanted to protect you.”
“Knowing the truth would have protected me, Antonio,” I shot back, whisper-yelling in the quiet of the church. “Being informed that someone had intentionally run you off the road, that our mother wasmurdered. That would have protected me.”
“You’re right. And if he had to do it all over again, maybe Papà would have chosen differently. But we’re here now, and all we can do is move forward.” Reaching for my hand, he held it tightly, and I noted the callouses on his palm. What had he done, my quiet, book loving brother, to earn himself such rough hands?
“I just feel like we’ve missed so much,” I said quietly, my voice choked with emotion. “I used to know everything about you, and now it’s like I don’t even know you at all.”
“And I will tell you anything you want to know, Francesca,” he replied, squeezing my hand. “But maybe not here.” Looking around ruefully at the bland church, Antonio grinned. “Some of my stories are not fit for Sunday School ears, yeah?”
Smiling back, my heart a little lighter, I allowed Antonio to tow me out of the pew and into the aisle. As we neared the doors I paused, turning to Antonio.
“Have—have you spoken to him?”
